Wolf
by Waffle-San
Summary: When morals are challenged, are you supposed to follow your heart or your brain?
1. Adler

_You know…When you first found me, I was really lost. In more ways than one. _

Feeling alone in a crowd wasn't an uncommon occurrence in the old world, or this new, dead one. It wasn't strange to feel like you were the last one, because you ran the risk of actually being the last one still breathing. It was all like a dream… or at least one of those bad B movies that Chandler Weisel made his obese daughter and wife, Leigh and Bonnie Weisel, on the occasional Saturday night that they were all home. One day, the family of three blondes had spent watching crappy zombie movies together, and the next…Well, this…Their home, large and lavish, was abandoned, but not a speck of blood was found in their massive Georgia mansion, except for on one person: A small, brown haired female.

The thin girl standing at only 4'9 and maybe sixteen years of age walked around, her skinny fingers wrapped around the hilt of a small, but viciously sharp dagger that she held up, ready to strike at a moment's notice. Her hair was long, reaching down to her lower back in a long braid that was held together with a yellow tie. It was impractical…but she couldn't part with her hair…She loved it too much. She slipped around edges skillfully, and every time she turned, she flashed some more of her vicious arsenal of weaponry.

Strapped to her body were guns and knives of all sorts. Two pistols were strapped by belts on her hips and positioned for easy access. On her belt were six throwing knives, red ones that looked as if they had just been bought, though they had been used multiple times. Her legs, clad in dark jeans, had guns strapped tight to each thigh, and inside of her thick combat boots were two, small knives that could be used to kill if she was caught in a sticky situation. A kitchen knife, one of those multi use ones, hung off each side, sheathed in their dark, metal carrying cases so that they wouldn't cut her, but could be pulled out with ease. Lastly, there was her heavy hitter: her shotgun she had lovingly named Percy. It wasn't particularly fancy, but it did the job well enough. Her supplies along with a few more weapons were in the worn army shoulder bag that she had pilfered from a soldier on the ground just moments before entering the mansion.

A girl didn't get by without a bit of brains and a small arsenal on her body.

The summer heat didn't relent as she surveyed the area, her pale skin sweating liberally and washing the dried blood off of her dirty skin and onto her green tank top. Her boots thumped softly on the wooden steps that sprawled up onto the second floor that was jus as expensive looking as the bottom…it was untouched in here…As if there wasn't dead people shambling just outside the door. The girl parted her pink, cracked lips and sighed. "If only…" Her voice was young, but held an unexpected southern twang to it as she drawled softly, continuing her ascent. The brunette turned to the side and continued down the unexplainably white washed halls, the honey oak getting dirtied under her mud caked boots. At the end of the hall was a door, and on it hung a name painted on a small sign, and she cocked her small head in confusion as she tried to read it. _"Leigh" _it spelled out, followed by flowers and birds on the pretty pink plaque that adorned the white door. "Hm…" She hummed out as she opened the door with one hand, the other held up with her knife still.

The room was empty, but untouched…Everything still seemed to be in place except for a few things that got knocked over with the window being opened, and a bit of weathering for the same reason…otherwise, it was like some sort of shrine to the girl who used to live in there. The girl sighed once more and walked over to the white side table next to the bed and gently picked up a frame that caught her eye. In the picture was a whole family: the two parents, and three kids. One was an older male, one that looked to be going through his teen angst stage though he looked to be in his early twenties. His blonde hair was in a scene style, not too long, but not too short, as it was still peeking out ffrom under his red and black striped beanie. In the middle of the portrait was a blonde girl, fat and short, but still lovely in her own way. Her blonde hair was cut into a short style, but it fell in waves around her round face, and her brown eyes were staring at the camera, a soft smile was set onto her pretty face. Her parents above her, both blonde, were smiling proudly at her and her sibling, who bore a striking resemblance to their parents in every way. But…there was one more…

On the side, the girl stared at herself in the picture. She was cleaned up, and her long brown hair was down fully and cascaded over her shoulders in a neat style. She was positively dark compared to the fairness of the family next to her. She stared for a moment, before breaking the glass frame and pulling out the photo and tucking it away in her back pocket for the time being. "It's okay, Leigh… Imma find you and ya family. But…" She smirked a bit, her teeth not as white as they were in the picture, but still clean thanks to the toothbrush and toothpaste she had pilfered from a store nearby. "I'm gonna use tha' bed of yours for a moment. I'm pretty tired…"

With a happy hop, the girl landed on the clean pink sheets, almost immediately dirtying them up. Her hand reached to the drawer and opened it lazily, snatching out the candies that were hidden inside of it. "Ah, ya fat bitch," she cooed as she took the sweets from within and deposited it into her neatly organized bag, "Ya told me ya ran out last time."

After quickly taking everything she needed, the girl then snatched up a piece of jewelry and held it out in front of her eyes, staring at it in an almost trance like state…It was gold…nearly pure gold. 24 karat was it? Hell…it had to be less than that, but it was still beautiful. The heart shaped locket was tiny, not more than an inch and a half big, and she never figured out how to open that damned thing…Leigh never told her. "Shit girl…" She hissed as she stuck it in her mouth and bit softly, trying to pry it open. "Wha' the fuck is in here?" After a moment, the brunette gave another sigh and placed the gold chain around her neck. "Fine fine…Imma keep it 'til I find you, then you can open it, dumb bitch-"

The door creaked open and before a breath could be drawn, her hand had already gone to her belt and ripped out her pistol. With the safety off, the girl stared down the man that had come into the room. He too had his gun up and pointed at her face and both of them stared down each other without wavering. The air was tight and horribly dense, and neither took a breath.

"…Are you bit?" He spoke calmly, as if it was his job.

"Nah," She answered just as cooly, not wavering in the slightest. She seemed not to care that a gun was in her face. "You?"

"No…" He slowly moved his gun away and replaced it in its holster. "Would you put your gun away?"

"Don' see why not…" She sighed and replaced it, but behind her body was her knife that she had hidden before she knew he was in the house with her. "Whatcha doin' here?"

"I could ask you the same thing…We're looking for food."

"My sister- well…Actually it was my cousin but we were close enough to be sisters, and we looked kind of alike except for the weight. She was a fatty, you know? Size eighteen was it? Must've been bigger… Anyway, she was a big girl." She gave a chuckle and looked straight at him. "That food? Ya going to have to share with me. I won't take a lot, promise. It's jus' me anyway. All the stuff I like is here, and I stayed here a lot so…"

"You can stay with us." The man offered, more relaxed than before. She didn't seem aggressive. Harsh, maybe, but not hostile. Perhaps she could be helpful, and staying on her own must have been difficult, especially for a girl like her. "You just have to answer three questions."

"Mmmhm…You're going to have to answer my questions too."

"Fair enough-"

She cut him off ungracefully. "How many others?"

He frowned, not liking her question. "A couple…How many walkers have you killed?"

She gave a cackle at this. "Ha! Ya think I keep count?" The youngster chortled and purred as if he asked her for something silly. "Well…Well over a hundred…But who hasn't? They come at me, and I kill them." She let the silence linger for a moment before asking her own question once more. "You trust these people?"

"I do…They're good people. Have you killed anyone living?"

"Yah." He opened his mouth to ask his final question, now alarmed at the idea that she may be dangerous, but she raised her hand. "Ma turn, and ma last question…Can I leave if I wanna? No one will hold me back or try to keep me a prisoner?"

"If that's what you want, I see no reason why not…Why did you kill that person?"

"They were bit and didn' wanna turn, so I shot 'em in the head. Nothing brutal, or cold hearted…Jeeze you think that badly of me?" She gave a soft chuckle and sat up, staring at him. "Alright…if ya'll have me, I'll come and pull my share of work…It's getting' a lil' lonely out here all by maself." She gave another chortle, a elated one that still held an undertone of her callous self. He gave a sigh and rubbed his forehead. _Damn that sense of justice…_Leaving a young girl wasn't what he wanted to do, even if she was a little quirky.

"Rick Grimes…You are?"

"Rebecca Adler, sir. It's a pleasure."

_I can't say I'm any less lost than I was then…but I'm lost with some friends. That's better than nothing, right?_

* * *

_Warning! This story will have many types of triggers!_

I do not own TWD or any of its characters or plots.


	2. Jabberjaw

_There's a big difference between being lost and alone…_

She had joined them at the farm about a week ago, but Daryl Dixon hadn't spared her more than a glance as she strutted in behind Rick. The only thing he noticed was how heavily armed she was; hell, the girl wasn't any older than sixteen, but she was armed to the teeth. Throwing knives, pistols, kitchen knives, box cutters, a shotgun, daggers… If it could cause some damage, it was in her possession. The only thing she was missing as a baseball bat. It was only after the first week did he actually get a good look at her.

The first thing he noticed as he passed her was those shit brown eyes of hers. They weren't even a pretty brown, not dark, not light, just gross, and the way they were angled didn't help her. It wasn't that she was particularly disgusting looking, but the southern man could see that slimy attitude of hers in her eyes. Then he saw that smirk of hers on her face. Strangely enough, it seemed to always be there. It was cocky, overconfident, just downright _infuriating _at its finest. Her lips were thin and dry already, but to be drawn up into that constant sneer of hers was just...

She had brushed past him once, and if it wasn't the cold metal of her weaponry that gave her identity away, it was that scent of hers. It was unnatural, as if it came out of a bottle…Perfume. It was a scent that hadn't been there in a while, with no one really needing it anyway. But she had it on her body nonetheless; what a petty creature she was. It was faint and smelled like some sort of flower he wasn't too familiar with, but it was still there, and it caused him to glance down at the small teenager. She looked back up at him from the corner of her eye, and it seemed as if her smirk pulled up more as she held up three ducks in her hand, all of them dead and skinned, ready to be cooked.

"Ah, I don't believe we've spoken, Mister Dixon…But I have to get these to the other women before they get nasty! I'll see you later," she chimed merrily, her voice still high and childish from adolescence. She seemed to skip off after, leaving him behind without another word. He stared after her wordlessly; he was just about to disappear into the woods to find something to shoot with his arrows, but it seemed as if she had beaten him to the punch. He shook his head lightly to clear it before continuing on anyway. It was pleasant to have a female there, even if she was young and irritating, that could do something besides cook and complain. She couldn't keep up with him in her dizziest day dreams, though, not matter how hard she tried. She'd better keep that fact in the back of her mind as well, lest she wanted to make a fool of herself.

Then another week passed before they had any contact. She seemed to disappear and only come up when she was needed, or when there was food to offer. He began to notice her goofy sleeping patterns. They were impractical with the hours: awake mostly at night, and slept like a rock during the day hours, almost like an owl.

It was that night that a shuffling outside his tent, one of something two legged, awoke him from his light slumber. He stared at the shadow that was walking outside his tent with surprising dexterity. The black mass kneeled down and pawed at his tent zipper. His dark eyes narrowed as he grabbed his crossbow and aimed silently at the head of the unknown mass. It took a few minutes for the person to finally figure out how the zipper worked, and they slowly slid it up and around as his finger pressed further and further down on the trigger. The second before he let his arrow fly, he saw those stupid, infuriating, shit brown eyes of hers. He aimed to the side just as the arrow flew, and instead of hitting her in the dead center of her face, as he planned to, the arrow sailed to the left and merely nicked the side of her face and grazed her high cheekbones instead. With a growl of indignation, he emerged, shoving her to the side roughly as he did. "Damnit girl! I woulda shot ya stupid bitch ass!" He trudged past her, practically steaming as he retrieved his arrow from a nearby tree a few yards away. She followed him merrily, some pep in her step as she touched the cut on her face, hissing as it stung under her fingers. "Now wha' the fuck do ya want!?"

She gave a small giggle, unphased by her near death experience. "You weren't the first ta point something at ma face…I grew up in the ghettos of Atlanta. 'Could hardly walk down the block without someone wanting ma purse or ma panties. And I don't think this will be the last time that someone puts a weapon in ma face." He scoffed at her words and sheathed his arrow angrily as he sat down back in his tent.

"Didn't answer mah question there, girl..."

"I jus' wanna talk!" she chirped merrily as she plopped down in front of him.

"It's two in th' damn morning!"

"Yeah. So?"

"Go th' fuck to sleep, Jabberjaw." With that, he closed his tent once more and settled in. She whined outside for a moment, sounding like a neglected puppy. After a moment of her whining failing to get his attention, she quieted down. Her lithe body rose up and walked off, but she sadly didn't go too far. With a ithumpi, she slammed her hunting knife into a nearby tree and ascended it with ease. Her light body must have been easy enough to support with just a knife or two. Finding a spot in the branches, she settled in boredly, slowly falling asleep as he did below.

That peace was short lived as the younger Dixon was awoken a few hours later by hushed arguing.

"Ya' not ma mother, Ma'am. Don't try to act like it."

"Rebecca, please, we need help inside the house-"

A snarl came from the younger. "I'm not a house bitch. I barely go inside there for anything besides the toilet. I bring back food for you guys, whether it be cans or game, and I help deal with the stupid walkers that run around here. Tha's my job, not being a maid." He could hear the snarl in her voice as she snapped at Rick's wife.

"You're just being selfish and spoiled, now come-"

" Th' fuck did I just say to you?" She barely let her get a word in edgewise before she snapped like a trap. "Ya not my mother. Ya not my boss. Ya just some bitch trying to tell me what to do." There was a thump as she fell from the tree and onto the ground. "So you better stop that shit before-"

"Before what, Rebecca? You shoot me? Stab me?"

There was a momentary silence in the air before the youngster let out an eerily lighthearted and elated giggle. "Keep it up and you'll find out real quick!" she chortled before she turned on her heel and into the woods, knife in her hand as she went on her merry way. With silence and her ghostly giggle still hanging in the air, Lori Grimes headed back to the farm house, leaving Daryl on his own in his tent, finally free of the feuding females for a while.

And like that, another week passed, and it was a relatively peaceful week, but…something was just a bit off. It was quiet outside of finding the boy and dealing with him, and it just was unnatural. There seemed to be a certain peace that no one quite understood, nor questioned. But at dinner that night, there was a lack of food, and everything seemed to click into place.

"…Has anyone seen Rebecca lately…? I haven't heard anything from her in a while," questioned the young Asian man of the group, Glen. A tentative silence set in as they all realized what was different. Though she had been there for only three weeks, if not less, she seemed to make more of a social impact then everyone realized.

"…Not since last week when…Oh god…" Lori cursed to herself softly and placed a hand over her mouth, the other running through her long locks nervously. If something happened to the teen, it would be her fault, though she was the only one who knew it. Her dark eyes travelled to the window where raindrops travelled down the side. If she wasn't in the house, then she must be…

Rick was the first to get up and ascend the stairs, calling her name. His footsteps thumped around as he went room to room, calling almost frantically as he searched for her. Moments later, he came down once more, shaking his head as he started issuing orders. "We have maybe an hour of daylight left…We need to get some search parties together. Get Daryl and listen to him. I don't want to lose another if I can help it."

And with that, they divided into groups: Rick leading one party along with Shane and a few more people, Glen and Maggie in another with a few others, and Daryl on his own, as he always was. The rain would make things difficult; it washed away tracks and scents, and it chilled the men and women to their worn bones. It rattled them, and as the sun disappeared and the weather intensified, one by one, the parties returned to the safety of the farmhouse, planning to continue their search in the morning, but one remained out.

Daryl couldn't stand the thought of leaving her out as they did Sophia. After what happened, to her…risking that again just couldn't happen. The water, chilly and refreshing, dripped down the side of his well sculpted face as he called for her, sharp and short, his voice edged with worry. "Rebecca!" he called for her once more before stopping to look around in the dense storm. "Rebecca!" He rubbed the palm of his hand into his face with a snarl of aggravation. With the darkness around him and the rain dense, He couldn't see a damn thing, much less track it. The hunter was more or less useless in this situation. He growled and slammed his fist into a nearby tree, scraping his knuckles with the action before he pressed his head into the rough bark. _Fucking useless…Couldn't save anyone. _

There was a drip on his face that was off from the rest. He felt a certain viscosity to it that just was off from the usual slick lightness of rain water. His fingers brushed against the place where the liquid dripped and brought it close to his eyes so he could see exactly what the substance was. Though it was diluted heavily, it was unmistakably something sticky and irony. His eyes widened and with slight hesitation, he turned his gaze up to see what exactly was above him.

It was definitely her. That hair of hers was far too long to mistake for anyone else, and when he moved his foot to go after her, his boots clanked against some of her fallen weaponry. Her body laid loosely in the tree, but with it being tied to the trunk solidly, she wouldn't fall down. But she was high up, and it made him wonder exactly how she had gotten that far up into the tree, and for what reason. She was roughed up, punctured in one or two places and scraped and cut in a few others, and her mouth was slightly parted as she slept, her breath coming out ragged and shallow. Had she been bitten? "Fuck, girl…" he snarled as he threw his crossbow on his back and drew out his hunting knife and held it taut in his worn hand. "Gotta be difficult, don'tcha?"

And with that, he slowly made his way up, his hands occasionally slipping from with water lubricating everything, but eventually he arrived at her limp body. One of his hands fell upon the branch and with the other he reached up to shake her awake. "Hey, Hey!" He yapped at her as he roughly shook her, but she did not stir from her deep slumber. He reached up and brushed the hair out of her face to see them only half lidded, not quiet asleep, but not quite awake. Those pale cheeks of hers were flushed brightly with red as her breaths came out ragged. "Fuck…" The brunette hissed as he took one of her knives he snatched up before sliding it under her restraints and cutting them with ease. Without the ropes keeping her down, her weight pulled her to the side and she began to tumble off. A snarl escaped his lips, and he grabbed her wrist and held her up. "Quit!" he snapped, as if she could hear him in her stupor, and he yanked her into his chest to prevent her from falling. The violent movement sent him off balance, and he plummeted down with her in his grip.

His scarred back slammed against the forest floor roughly, eliciting a groan of pain from him as he laid there, trying to recover from it. The added weight, though it wasn't much, didn't help either. He was positive there was a broken rib somewhere, but that could wait. After a moment of laying in the cold rain, allowing it to drip and ease his pain, he rose. His arms, strong and uncovered, wrapped around rebecca and hoisted the woman on his back. Her face gently rolled into the crook of his neck, and then he truly felt just how warm she was. Perhaps he was just cold, but Rebecca Adler might as well have been boiling with the temperature of her skin.

"How are you still alive…?" he questioned, and as if to answer, her taut grip on what was in her hand loosened, and the bundle hit the ground softly. It was bark, and not only that, it had been chewed on. That made sense…He had seen a tree on the way that had been torn at and ripped apart nearly to the core, and bark had been removed. Willow was more or less Asprin, and that brought down the fever. Smart girl. "…Let's just get ya' dumb ass back…"

And he trudged on silently, noting a few things about her as he did. She was light, almost incredibly so; he had carried fat birds heavier than her. Her chest was small, and it felt strange on his back with the minute size. Girls her age were usually developed by now but she was just…pathetically flat. Her legs were like tiny sticks and seemed to be easily broken, and it was the same with her arms that were loosely draped around his broad shoulders. Everything about her was unnaturally petite, almost as if she was a skeleton already.

He continued on, his face set into a determined expression. She was little, she was sick, and she was bleeding from the gashes that she loosely patched up. It wasn't a bite, more of scratch marks from some animal, but if those weren't infected already, they would be soon. He hadn't dared remove her sloppy bandages. She had almost everything working against her, all except Daryl Dixon. He would make sure she survived if he had to nearly kill himself in the process.

So he kept going, making his way back to the farm as quickly as he could without hurting her too much. She had gone a far way away from camp, and it was irritating him just how many dips and grooves he had to struggle through just to go back to the farm that he held no particular care for just for this dumb-

Her breathing was slowing and becoming shallower as they came into the clearing. Morning was just beginning to break and shine it's gentle light down on them and the rain was slowing as he approached. With her condition worsening, he broke out into a full run while trying not to jostle her weak self too much. With how weak she was, she needed to get her to Hershel as soon as possible. Taking two steps at a time onto the large porch, his foot slammed into the screen door frantically, making a mighty clamor as he yelled for the people inside. "Open the fuckin' door!"

"I haven't heard this much racket since the neighbor's cow got loose… I'm coming!" The door swung open and Maggie, thin and pretty, opened the door, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "God, what's the deal- "She blinked in surprise as she stared at the two. She shook her momentary stupor, and then cried out for her father as she directed Daryl to the unoccupied couch with a pointing finger. "Daddy! Come quick! He found her!"

Without missing a beat, he jogged to the couch and deposited her down slowly. No sooner then he let go had Maggie taken her place next to him and directed him on what to do. "Get all that crap on her off: Weapons, shirt, pants, bandages, all of it. She needs to get dry."

He did as told, not that Rebecca like it. He grabbed one of her knives from the side and slid it straight up her shirt, cutting the fabric loose and tearing it off before repeating with her pants. As soon as she was bare, a blanket was thrown over her. Hershel hobbled into the room slowly, and with a dismissive hand, he shooed the Dixon off. Daryl gave a nod and walked back outside, only to be stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He threw a tired glance over his shoulder to see Carol looking at him with reserved happiness in her eyes.

"Thank you for finding her…And not letting what happened to Sophia happen to her…"

A twinge of pain stabbed his heart as he remembered the dead girl's face before he turned away and returned to his tent. "It wasn't her time…" He answered simply before leaving to catch up on his lost hours of sleep.

_Being alone is hell. Being lost though…I don't mind being lost if it's with you…_


End file.
